The Emerald Dragon (The Lost Ancients Book 3)

by Marie Andreas

  Crusty looped around the area the rakasa and Glorinal had gone, then came back to me with a confused look. “They no there. Never there.”

  The other faeries all flew over the spot as well, a few of the wild ones even going down the trail, but all came back with the same confused looks.

  “Not there. Where you put?” Garbage had the same tone and look she had when she’d chastised me for destroying a sceanra anam to save my life.

  “They went that way.” Harlan had finally recovered enough to speak, but he still didn’t look good. He was a lover not a fighter and it spoke volumes to how much he cared about Covey and me that he hadn’t run off at the first sign of the rakasa.

  My three faeries buzzed close to him, then came back.

  “They vanish!” Garbage said with conviction. Apparently, they didn’t believe my telling of the story. However, if Uncle Harlan said it, he of the treats and belly rubs, it was considered true. Nice to have a reminder of where I stood with them.

  “This is all great, but we need to get moving.” Carlon didn’t completely snarl, but it was close, as he stomped past us and went back to the wagons.

  I noticed none of the faeries got anywhere near him. The ones that had been hovering where he marched through rose high in the air before he got close then flew closer to us.

  The wild faeries formed a giant circle, then sang a high-pitched note, and flew out of sight. I was standing near Garbage, so I saw the flash of sadness on her face as they left. Then she shook it off, and held a brief meeting with the town faeries. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but they soon left as well, leaving my three and the extra nine that were apparently with us for the duration of this trip. No way would I try to learn all their names. Dingle Bottom and Penqow were the easiest names of the bunch.

  By the time we got back to the wagons, Locksead had been retrieved and placed in his wagon. He hadn’t regained consciousness yet, but Orenda nodded when I peeked in. His arm was in a sling with sticks, and he was covered in scratches. But it looked like he’d survived.

  Which left Carlon stomping around trying to get everyone ready to ride. Locksead wasn’t a softy, not by any stretch, but he was compared to Carlon. I wondered again what Orenda had seen in him. Although, he’d used that tiny magic trick when she came back. He could have spelled her from the beginning and then was actually breaking it.

  Love spells weren’t that hard to learn. Alric wouldn’t teach them to me, but he explained them in theory. While they weren’t difficult to learn, they were draining for the spell caster. I narrowed my eyes and watched Carlon barking orders. The physical cost would have been heavy. So why would he cast a spell on her, then tire of her after a few weeks? I’d have to keep an eye on Carlon whether I wanted to or not.

  The faeries and I went back to our wagon, where an agitated Bunky waited. He’d taken my command to wait there seriously, but wasn’t happy about it.

  “Sorry, Bunky.” I stuck my hand in my cloak and skritched him through it. I needed to see if Covey had brought me any gloves. “But it was better you stayed here.”

  He gave his rumbling buzz, and then flew up a few inches to eye level with a definite accusation in those black eyes.

  “We needed you to stay here and protect everyone else.” I motioned to the rest of Locksead’s gang that had stayed behind. In truth, I wouldn’t have tried to protect them. They couldn’t even be bothered to try to get their leader until they were sure the risk was gone. However, my words changed the tone in Bunky’s buzz. He clearly was taking his role as guardian of the faeries and me to heart, but it was good to know I could transfer that care if need be.

  I opened the door to the wagon and he waited until the faeries flew in. Crusty Bucket as usual was bringing up the rear. She was also flying more sideways than usual and I had to catch her before she flew into the side of the wagon.

  I flipped her over to make sure she hadn’t been hurt somehow. As far as I knew none of the faeries had been around the rakasa, but who knew what they did before we went out there. “Crusty? Sweetie? Are you okay?”

  She shook herself off, staggered about my hand a bit, then flopped down with folded legs. “Stinky. Is very stinky.” She waved her hand in front of her nose as if to clear the smell from it.

  “What’s stinky, sweetie?” We put her down next to the others gathered around their little carriage. Stinky I could deal with; nasty things trying to kill us I had a problem with.

  “He stinky. Bad man.” She must have cleared her head enough because then she ran off to join the others as they all stuffed themselves in the carriage. A lot of giggling, snorting, and singing. Then silence.

  I stuck my head inside. All twelve were sound asleep in a giant mass of overall clad legs and wings.

  I was not one to argue with providence. The faeries had already shown to be easily bored when traveling in the wagon, so if they wanted to sleep during it I was all-good with that.

  The door swung open and Covey, followed by a very irate Orenda, came inside.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Orenda glared at the closed door. “That man, Carlon. I need to stay with Locksead. I think he’s going to recover, but he still hasn’t woken up. That idiot is having Cook ride with him because obviously a cook knows how to fix injuries.” She flung herself on her seat. “I spent time learning the healing craft as a child; I bet Cook has never even tied a bandage.”

  There was no haughty elven princess there, only a pissed-off nurse. My opinion of her went up a few notches.

  “I thought he was your soul mate?” Covey had leaned back and closed her eyes as soon as she took her seat, but she obviously was listening.

  “I was wrong.” Orenda’s tone possessed enough venom to fuel an army of poisoners for a year. “Horribly, horribly wrong.” The shudder she gave reinforced it if there had been any doubt whatsoever.

  “Good. That man is a jackass.” Covey cracked open an eye and gave the elf a smile.

  “I could have killed that…thing…if he hadn’t charged forward right when he did.”

  Covey let that annoyance stew for a bit, then turned to me as the wagon started moving.

  “Your ex-boyfriend hasn’t improved. But it couldn’t happen to a better person.” Her eyes narrowed. “I still need to kill him. Although if he’s aware at all of what he now is, that would almost be payment enough.”

  Orenda watched both of us with growing confusion. She’d taken off before Glorinal had arrived. I was actually grateful for that for her sake.

  I gave a sigh. It would be better not to tell her about him, but I had a horrible feeling in my gut that this wasn’t the last time we’d be seeing him or his keepers. The way they left was both odd and disturbing; clearly Glorinal had given the rakasa some bad information as to what we had with us. But it still seemed like a sudden departure.

  “Who are you talking about?” Orenda asked.

  Some of the stuff in my head must have shown in my face. Orenda looked like she felt she needed to know, not that she wanted to know.

  It took longer than I would have thought to explain the entire Glorinal saga, or at least the crucial aspects. But that was mostly because I kept trying to skim and Covey was relishing all the details. Until it got to the part where he and Jovan had taken Harlan and Covey prisoner. Neither of them had talked much at all about what happened. Coming from Covey that reticence wasn’t too unexpected. However, that level of silence for Harlan scared me.

  Covey skimmed it now, and I let her.

  Orenda looked shocked and concerned. But most of her questions were aimed at the fact that not only had there been other elves around, that both were major magic users—she mentioned her people had only the weaker magics left now—and that Jovan was from before the Breaking. It seemed that her clan had been even worse off than Alric’s in terms of older survivors and had been founded by a group of teens and children.

  Of course, she seemed to be in complete denial about the rakasa. Even though s
he had seen them, and judging by her reaction, she had known what they must be from horror stories still passed down by her people, she was blocking them out.

  “But how did he survive? Is there any way we can free him? We could question him,” She turned to Covey with an understanding nod. “Make him stand proper trial for his actions, including killing one of the Old Ones.”

  She was back to focusing on Glorinal. Had she seen what he was now, she wouldn’t be asking about rescuing him. The nicest thing anyone could do would be to kill him.

  Covey answered before I could. “There is nothing left. He was a vile, vicious killer, and he got what he deserved, but there is nothing left, even of that. He is now a monster in the truest sense of the word.”

  Orenda opened her mouth to try to defend him; he was an elf after all. But Covey closed her eyes, folded her arms, and went to sleep.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you know about where we’re going?” I figured we’d talked enough about Glorinal for one lifetime.

  Orenda glanced to Covey, but turned away when she gave a convincing snore. The plan she outlined was simple, but I wondered if that was because Locksead hadn’t told her much.

  The dig site was a new one, located outside of Kenithworth. Because they didn’t have the flood of diggers found in Beccia, and the whole ruins thing was new to them, there weren’t the tight restrictions on getting assigned a dig site. You did need to have at least one qualified person on the crew, and they favored groups over individuals. The original plan had been for Orenda and Carlon to pose as a renowned digger couple who was actually currently working down near the Spheres. They looked like the couple well enough, and it was known the woman was a half-elf.

  Now that they had Covey, Harlan, and me however, Locksead found himself with an abundance of real cred. He had briefly suggested that Carlon and Orenda still keep up their ruse, but Orenda had shut that down immediately.

  The plan was for us to go in as a group of digger explorers, find the best relics, then take off before the gatekeepers realized what we had found. I was hoping to find clues as to where whoever took Alric had gone, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit growing curiosity about the possibility of an untainted Ancient dig site.

  As of yet, no respectable diggers knew of the uniqueness of this location. Locksead wouldn’t tell where exactly the dig site was nor how he found out about it.

  “So how is he doing?” Like the rest of them, who already knew the plan, I now had a vested interest in Locksead’s recovery. He was keeping everything vague so everyone needed him alive. Unfortunately, Carlon appeared to be a major part of this, so we couldn’t dump him off somewhere.

  The scowl Orenda had been wearing earlier came back at my question. “I believe he will be okay, but he still was unconscious. His right arm is shattered. Unless we find a healer, he won’t be using it for a while. I can’t tell if something attacked him, or the damage is just from being thrown. And now that Carlon has kicked me out, I won’t be able to tell what is wrong internally when he wakes up.”

  She folded her arms and did a great imitation of Covey dozing. I settled back and let my thoughts bounce around my head as we continued down the road. I’d never been to Kenithworth but Harlan had estimated that it would probably take two weeks to get there.

  With nothing else to focus on, my mind went back to Alric. I just was having trouble thinking the rakasa would have gone through the trouble to find and hire a pair of changelings to cover his kidnapping. The changeling probably lied about little men hiring him.

  Which meant someone else took him. Hopefully, once we got to the city, I could send the faeries on his trail.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Harlan had been off by a week in our travel estimate. It had taken closer to three weeks and we were still a day out of the city. We’d developed a routine for setting camp, each of the wagons had, and I was out setting the wheel blocks and admiring the view as soon as Tag stopped our horse. We were on a cliff overlooking a valley divided into farms of various colors of green. The city itself was behind that, and even from this distance, it was huge.

  My hometown had been little more than a fishing village. And while Beccia had grown significantly in the fifteen years since I had moved there, it was less than ten percent of the sprawling city before me.

  My back was toward the rest of the camp, and I was trying to decide if I had time for a closer look at the valley below us before dinner, when Locksead’s voice shattered my thoughts.

  “Tell your friend to leave Orenda alone. He’s married.”

  Locksead had recovered, but Grimwold’s magic hadn’t been enough to help heal his arm, so it was still in the sling. A few days after we’d gone on the road, Carlon had created some kind of paste that solidified into a hard cast.

  The cast was annoying, and Locksead still couldn’t do much with that hand, but it did get him back to his usual self. Unfortunately, it also got him back to focusing on Orenda.

  And so was Harlan.

  “He’s married, but chatalings traditionally have multiple wives, and I think his current ones are done with him.” I finished shoving the block under the last wheel and turned back. “I am not going to get involved in anyone’s love life, least of all yours.”

  He looked ready to launch yet another argument against Harlan and Orenda, but Covey appeared from the side of the wagon. “Time to get some drills in before dinner.” She glanced at Locksead as if she’d just seen him. “Cook is looking for you.”

  I smiled as he left. I had grown tired of the weird little love triangle over the last three weeks. Especially since Orenda seemed to be totally oblivious to the drama.

  The smile dropped as Covey held out a short sword and dagger. I completely agreed that I needed to be better able to defend myself, but I’d been counting on my magic training to do just that. Covey wouldn’t listen and brought up way too many arguments on why relying on magic—even once mine became stronger and more consistent—was a bad idea. A blade could still hurt a magic user if they couldn’t get a spell out in time to block it. Actually, all I had to do was look at Grimwold and the point was driven home. What if my magic never got higher than his? Without Alric or another magic user I trusted with my secret, my training was at a standstill.

  With a sigh, I took both weapons from Covey and squared myself for another painful and annoying round of training.

  I could get the basics of sword and dagger fighting down. However, the subtle nuances that would make me a serious fighter I just couldn’t seem to grasp. Covey and I had been doing some weapons and hand-to-hand training since the whole glass gargoyle incident. But she was now like a woman obsessed.

  “No, you dropped your left arm again, right after you swung. You left that side unprotected and I could have run you through.” Covey had a blunted practice blade today, so she whapped my side as she spoke in emphasis. She alternated between a real blade and a practice one. So far, she was pulling any strikes with the real blade, so the practice sword was far more painful.

  “It just doesn’t come naturally.” I set down both blades and flexed my fingers. “Maybe I need a longer sword.” The one she had me training with was a short curved blade, as favored by the sword dancers of the Akalsat region. It was light, which was good, but it just didn’t feel right, as if I was always swinging too short. I had no idea where she’d come up with all the weapons, and she didn’t feel like telling me. Most likely she lifted them from the university in one of her odd, “I’ll bring them back and it’s for the greater good” justifications.

  Covey bent down and traded the practice blade for the large sword. “You need to start with a lighter blade, and then go for reach. The bigger ones are heavy. Come on, we still have time for a little more before dinner.”

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth, than Cook rang his dinner bell. I’d never been so happy to go eat in my life.

  I rounded the corner of the wagon to get in line for food—Cook’s on-the-roa
d food wasn’t half-bad, but he was stingy with the amounts—but ran right into a mass of faery wings.

  They were yelling about something. Of course, the more faeries got excited, the higher their voices got. Judging by the high-level squealing I heard, they were very worked up.

  I thought about dodging around them, but if I did that, someone would just send me back to deal with them.

  “What is wrong?” That launched a barrage of chittering flung my way. “Wait, one of you, Crusty, you tell me what’s wrong.” As the leader, more or less, of their tribe, Garbage looked affronted that I hadn’t asked her. But Crusty was holding back from the argument. Most likely simply because she hadn’t noticed it. She was flying in tiny loops, humming to herself.

  “Bunky stuck. But he make us promise not to follow.” That was possibly the most coherent sentence I’d ever heard from her.

  “We want to follow,” Garbage said and the rest of the faeries nodded. “But can’t.”

  I looked at all of their tiny, frustrated faces. Bunky had been keeping them in line on this trip, but if he wasn’t here, I didn’t see how he could enforce it. They never obeyed me if I wasn’t around.

  “Why can’t you?” I held up my hands and all three of my faeries landed on them. The remaining ones hovered nearby.

  Garbage looked embarrassed. “He say no.” All eleven other faeries nodded their heads in stern agreement.

  “Since when has that stopped you?” I was still lost.

  “He put spell on us.”

  I almost dropped the girls at that one. Bunky was a spell; he was a construct created by some ancient and insanely powerful mage for who knew what reason. Alric had assured me that constructs couldn’t be magic users.

  “Why did Bunky put a spell on you?”

  Leaf piped in first on this one. “He did for you. You say we listen to him. Him make it happen.”

  I looked to the other faeries, but they just nodded. Garbage scowled, folded her arms in annoyance, and then nodded.

  Bunky was able to cast a spell because I told him to? I tried to think of any transference magic that Alric might have touched on. However, if he had, it had been just that—touched on. And not something I’d kept in my head.